


Hound

by capt_eli



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, Masochism, One-Sided Attraction, Sadism, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capt_eli/pseuds/capt_eli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is Judge Magister, loyal hound of the Empire and, more intimately, its eldest son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hound

When Gabranth returns to his quarters and sees the split lip in the mirror, presses his fingers into the bruises, feels the uncomfortable damp in his pants, he knows it’s wrong. It’s disgusting, he’s disgusting, and hatred for himself bubbles up in his chest until he can squash it down long enough to fall asleep. He thinks the worst part is that once the bruises fade and his lip is no longer cracked and scabbed, he’ll do it again.

He is Judge Magister, loyal hound of the Empire and, more intimately, its eldest son. Vayne Carudas Solidor, champion of Archades. Few citizens are privy to his brutality. Fewer still are those who know it with as much familiarity as Gabranth does. When the consul needs a whipping boy on whom to release his tensions, Gabranth is only too eager to oblige.

Their sessions always begin with Gabranth kneeling in the consul’s office. He takes the slaps gratefully, each stinging palm against his face causing a twitch in his cock. The hits grow harder and faster, the Judge’s heartbeat following suit, until an ungloved fist smashes across his jaw. If Vayne is particularly frustrated, he might taste blood as he reels to one side, a shocked moan echoing in the expansive office. Gabranth straightens quickly, barely upright again before the next punch hits the other side of his face. This one almost certainly draws blood. Failing that, the third is guaranteed to.

Vayne always allows a pause once his hound starts drooling red. Gabranth is hard by now and spits a mouthful of blood into the offered waste bin. He has a moment to breathe before he’s kicked in the side, then the kidney. A boot crashes down on his back as he doubles over and the air rushes out of his lungs in a huge gust. Vayne pushes him over with his foot and Gabranth lies there, gasping for breath for what feels like hours. He chokes on blood and saliva in his haste and the fear that he might pass out sends another jolt of pleasure to his groin. Vayne laughs at him coldly and presses a boot between his legs. He pushes until it hurts and Gabranth gets his breath back in time for a broken moan to escape his throat.

The pressure is gone as suddenly as it was given and he’s being pulled to his feet by his shirt collar. The consul inspects his handiwork. He runs his thumb over the split in Gabranth’s lip before pushing it back, smiling at his blood stained teeth. Gabranth whimpers and Vayne leans forward to lick the red trail draining from his nose. He kisses him next, hard and rough, while his fingers prod the fresh bruises on his face. Gabranth moans. He cups himself through his trousers, desperate for contact. Vayne notices and shoves him away, a line of pink spit connecting their mouths until it snaps.

Gabranth always wishes that Vayne would push him to his knees again and fuck his mouth. He imagines the grin stained with his blood, watching while he sucks. He wants Vayne to grip his hair and pull him closer until he chokes. He wants to know that he’s not the only one that gets off on this, but, as ever, his master isn’t even aroused. Gabranth learned long ago that this was more sport than sex for the Solidor son.

Vayne turns and takes a seat behind his desk. He licks his lips and motions to the sturdy piece of furniture, cleared of all paperwork and documents. Gabranth knows what to do and he does it faithfully. He strips off his shirt and trousers and climbs, naked, onto the desk. There he kneels, knees spread and cock standing flushed and at attention. Vayne takes a moment to admire the swollen bruises on Gabranth’s torso and the shameful evidence of his lust dripping precome between his legs. He waves his hand for Gabranth to continue.

Gabranth spits in his palm, ignores the red swirls there, and takes himself in hand. He moans at the contact and his hips push forward of their own accord. Even as his eyes slip shut, he knows Vayne is watching and it makes his blood pound loudly in his ears. His hand squeezes and pulls and he shudders. The movement causes fresh pain to bloom across his back. Gabranth’s whole body is strung tight with sharp pleasure and dull aching and he moans again, louder, as his hand speeds. He won’t last long but he knows it’s better to finish quickly than to have his master grow bored with him.

Delicious pressure builds in his stomach and Gabranth makes a needy sound with every stroke. Vayne laughs again, quietly, and that’s all it takes for Gabranth to choke out a small cry and spill into his hand. The warm pleasure soaks into his muscles, soothing away the pain. In that moment, he feels bliss. But as his orgasm high quickly fades, the aches return with fervor and it brings the hate and shame that settles into Gabranth’s bones. He curls in on himself slightly, hiding his face and covering his cock.

Vayne makes a noise between amusement and boredom and simply leaves. Gabranth is expected to be gone by the time he returns. The hound’s fingers tremble as he dresses and he clears his throat to dispel the lump there. The helmet is last, concealing bruises and smeared blood, and the Judge Magister stands tall and steady as he leaves the office.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something like this and I can't believe I'm posting it. I'm so sorry, Gabs.


End file.
